


A Moment After

by Dragoneisha



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Afterlife, Canonical Character Death, Dead People, Fluff and Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 07:42:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21406621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragoneisha/pseuds/Dragoneisha
Summary: It's time for Ned to go.--Takes place during episode 28 of TAZ: Amnesty--
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	A Moment After

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-SSpKQiY-aA
> 
> thsi youtube video has a very cute ending shot that inspired this Whole Ass Thing. also its sad. so... thats my inspo lol. i wrote this in a frenzy in half an hour just fucking take it

“Quite a lot going on here,” someone quips.

Ned just blinks, a long, slow waste of time, from his position on the ground. He’s comfortable, and he doesn’t want to get up, very much. Not that he generally wants to get up anyway, of course. These old bones aren’t meant for all the athletics he’s been putting them through, and with winter coming in Kepler, they’re protesting even more than usual these days.

It doesn’t strike him for a few moments that they don’t hurt at all, actually. Ned feels just fine. But at the time, he’s mostly focused on the man sitting crosslegged beside him.

He’s… a gorgeous thing. Smooth black skin, dreadlocks neatly pulled back into a thick bundle, and the kindest eyes Ned thinks he’s ever seen. Even gives Aubrey a run for her money. Especially at the end… god, the end.

But, uh. The image gets ruined, somewhat. ‘Cause the fella’s sporting a scythe big enough to harvest an oak tree, the feathers crowning the apex of its handle matching perfectly with the ruff on this man’s cloak - all black, dark as the night he’d closed his eyes in, or even darker. It’s hard to look away. It’s almost harder to look at him, what with his midnight iridescence.

That kind of thing grabs a man’s attention, you know. 

“Are you… Death?” he asks, in a quiet, quavering voice, even with all the courage he’d bothered to muster up. “Have you come to take me to Hell? Because that seems an awful lot of work, and really, if you wanna just leave me right here, that’s just fine!”

His smile is kind in the way a fireman is kind when he tells you that your home is gone. “Not quite,” the man says, tilting his head just a little to the side. He’s not condescending, but he’s close. “But close enough not to matter much, to you.”

Ned opens his mouth, moves as if he’s going to scramble away, and Death is quick to speak. “You’re not - going to Hell. I promise you. We don’t really.. Have that sort of thing, especially not for people like you - blimey, ah. It’ll be fine.” His smile softens, a little. There’s no pain in it. “I’ve just come to be an escort.”

He’s not going to go to Hell. Huh. That’s a funny thing to consider, as Ned’s been pretty sure if there was an afterlife, he’d be going to the bad part of it, for a good part of his life. Uh, almost all of it, if he really thinks about it. Boy, ain’t that a kick in the head? Pretty sad, if he thinks about it too long. Hell, he might cry.

Not for, uh, those reasons, though. It’s just - damn, he’s really a goner, huh? It’s over. Kaput. He kicked the hell out of that bucket. Punted it, even!

Oh, shit. Ned whips around where he’s seated, but he doesn’t see much of the world around him. Everything is colorless and blurry, save him and handsome Death, enough so he can’t really make anything out. Even if he could, nothing’s moving an inch. That’s maybe Momma, knelt by him, and he can see the general glow of the archway, and - strangely enough - two little flecks of orange floating at eye level. Otherwise, he can’t tell a sheriff from a tree like this. Everything is… very distant.

“Don’t worry,” says Death in soothing tones, “they’ll be fine.” And Ned feels some cold hand around his heart relax - not that that helps much, at this point - when he says it. Sure, he ain’t got much reason to trust ol’ Steak Knife’s Grandaddy over here, but it’s not like the dude has a reason to lie. It shouldn’t make much difference, y’know, to Death.

Ned talks back anyway. He’s never been good at keeping his mouth shut.

“Are you sure?” That came out a lot less “talking back” and a lot more… begging for answers. Ned hadn’t realized his eyes were wet until that moment, but his hands are dirtied in the ground, and he doesn’t want to wipe his face, especially not with the never-wavering stare of Death (isn’t that, like, the subject of a song or two?) on his face. He doesn’t want the guy to go gossip to all his friends, or whatever Death has that passes for friends, about how Ned Kelly Chicane cried like a baby once he died.

God, he really wants to cry. He’s scared - not for himself, that’s a little bit after the mark at this point, but for Aubrey and Duck and Kepler. He didn’t want to leave them, yet. They were a little young - too young - but they were sure as shit his best friends. What kind of friend leaves their buddies behind in a pickle like this?

Not Ned Chicane. Not… anymore.

“I promise.” Death stands, a fluid movement, and braces the scythe on his shoulder to hold out a hand. “You’ll see them, but not anytime soon, I hope. I have… a little experience with this kind of thing.” He chuckles. “I’m sure they’ll be alright. Your time is over.”

Ned looks down at his hand, a moment, the palm gazing accusingly up at him. He’s gonna get Death’s hands dirty if he takes it, but he might like the support. If he’s gonna, anyway.

Ned does take the hand, and Death pulls him to his feet, seeming relieved. “Alright,” he says, “but you gotta tell me, like, your skincare routine! I mean, c’mon!”

That startles him into laughter, and Ned feels like he can relax, finally. Death pats him on the back. “Trade secret,” he says, before sobering, turning his scythe in one hand and splitting the world open with a flick of it, in a way that Ned would’ve found frightening just a year ago. “My husband would not approve of sharing.”

Death’s gay. Sick. “Well, don’t you get a hall pass?”

Death looks, resolute, through the portal, and says, in practiced tones, “That is not what my hall pass is for.”

That makes Ned cackle, a little bit, just wasting the precious few moments he should’ve been using looking around or maybe trying to run. But he’s tired of running, and - well, what’s a dead man gonna do in a world without time or color? He’s gone. As shit as it is to die, he’s okay with the way he did it. And Death says they’ll be fine, but -

“Are you sure they’ll be fine?” The question startles them both, breaking right out of laughter into the serious tones of a man unsure. He just - Ned has to know. There’s no other option here. And with soft eyes and soft voice, Death tells him, a hand between his shoulderblades as cold as anything.

“You know, you did well, Ned Chicane.”

And he believes it.


End file.
